Did You Miss Me?
by Ferric
Summary: After an argument with Farah, which has left him quite upset, the Prince gets a visit from someone he thought to be long gone.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters or locations mentioned in the Prince of Persia series, nor am I making any money off of this bit of writing.

From up on the balcony he was able to look out over the city and see the progress that was being made in the repairs and rebuilding. Tonight watching the lights of the city below him and knowing that his people were able to begin resuming their normal lives, despite all that had happened did nothing to comfort him. After the argument he had with Farah earlier that evening he could not tell what it would take for him to be able to relax again. An apology from her might have been a good starting point.

Looking back on it, he was unable to recall exactly what it had been that they were discussing when she first started to raise her voice. He would have thought that after all they had been through together and the near destruction of both their kingdoms that they should have been completely happy together, that she would never have wanted to argue with him over trivial little things.

It must have been unimportant as he was unable to remember what had been said that first started her yelling at him, how she had accused him of 'being as selfish as ever' and 'having learned nothing from all that had happened'.

As if the Vizier's treachery was something he could have prevented. If anything the blame lay upon Farah and her father for trusting the man for so long. He had said as much, probably not the wisest action he could have taken in the situation, but he had hoped that maybe shame would make her give up on the disagreement, realize she was as much at fault as anyone. Instead it had only served to worsen the situation.

They had continued to argue at increasing volume until they were genuinely yelling at each other, yet she still persisted in maintaining that he was the one who was wrong.

Though it had happened hours ago just thinking about it filled him with as much frustration as when it had been happening.

She had simply refused to accept that she was being unreasonable, that she was letting her emotions get the better of her and cloud her judgment. The affairs of her former home were not his responsibility, and now that she was married to him, had chosen to marry him, they should not have been of any great concern to her either. He had his own people to worry about, among countless other things.

It was typical really, how she had gotten so upset that she refused to listen to reason. Still, that it had ended up coming to blows surprised him. Never had he expected that she would actually raise a hand against him.

He put his hand to the side of his face where the blow had landed. It was shock more than anything that made it stand out in his mind. Just a slap, it had done no damage and caused no pain, but the sound had been quite dramatic and the look of anger Farah had given him stung.

His response had been reflexive, proof that he had been through too much and fighting for too long. Pulling back his arm he had come within inches of hitting her back, not a little slap, but a genuine punch straight to her face.

Halfway through he had been able to stop himself, realize what he was doing and lower his hands.

Farah must have seen in his eyes that his intent had been genuine, for the look she gave him had chilled him. It was that same look she had given him when she first saw him in his sand corrupted state.

What she then said turned his shock to anger, suggesting that he was still capable of being a monster even though the sands were long gone. For her to say such a thing only proved that she was willing to stoop to any low to win the little argument that she had initiated.

She still refused to understand that it was impossible to be a hero all the time for everyone and that there were times when one had to make decisions and prioritize. As king making those decisions was his responsibility and her responsibility, as his wife, was to be supportive of him, not to bother him with petty bickering and her own ideas about what should be done.

He had not even asked her for advice at the time.

Thinking about it did no good, there was no point in dwelling on it. Sooner or later she would come to her senses and apologize to him.

Leaning over the balcony railing he tried to focus on the city below, his view partially obscured by scaffolding. Repairs to the palace had yet to be completed as well. There was so much going on, so much he had to do, why did Farah insist on not letting him have a moment's rest from it all?

Was there nothing he could do to push their arguing from his mind? Maybe if he were to take a walk in the gardens it would help him calm down. Unless they had yet to be replanted, then it would only make it all worse. Nothing like walking past dead plants and weeds to make a bad mood even worse.

Why did she refuse to understand?

"See, what did I tell you about her?" a terribly familiar voice spoke with an insufferably smug tone.

Even as he turned, he knew that there would be no one there. There was no way anyone could have snuck up on him, even as distracted as he was, he would have heard their approach, besides even if he wanted to deny it, he recognized the voice.

"Did you miss me?" Laughter echoed in his ears, mocking laughter that carried a confidence that no one would come to investigate what was going on since no one else could hear it.

What he was hearing was impossible, the first time he would have blamed it on his frustration, but he had heard it twice.

"No," he felt like a fool, speaking to the empty night air, "No, you're gone, I –"

"You what, destroyed me? Got rid of me? How about turned and fled?"

He could not believe he was doing this, saying this, "I do _not_ flee."

More laughter followed, "You always flee from what you refuse to accept, like now."

"What do you mean?" but before he could continue his questioning there was a timid knock at the door.

"Nowhere to run now, is there?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** Thank you Caroline.

* * *

He knew it was Farah since after knocking she opened the door without even waiting for him to tell her that she was allowed to enter. Already there had been several times when that habit of hers had brought about some awkward situations. It was something he should have put a stop to right away, but he had been too lenient with her, memories of Azad clouding his judgment. To her none of the ordeal had ever happened, all they had been though there was just a story, memories that belonged to him alone.

She always had been bold that and he now realized what a problem that boldness was. Back in Azad he had noticed it, yet he had tolerated it for far too long, intending to do something about it without actually moving to do anything.

All that was in the past though, even if she was coming to apologize he had no desire to talk to her at the time. He had something far more troublesome to worry about than her being contrary for its own sake after all. Instead of turning to face her, he continued to look out over the city in the hope that she would just leave.

"Yes, ignoring problems works so well, doesn't it?"

The only indication he gave of having heard the voice was to tense slightly. Talking to a voice that existed only in his mind was not a very wise thing to do when there were others around, no matter how annoying the voice got.

"Prince?"

Her tone of voice alone made it clear that she had not come to apologize.

While he waited in silence for her to continue the voice in the back of his mind began to hum an off key tune, probably an attempt to get him to lose his temper or to distract him. If he were to do such a thing he would never get Farah to give up on her silly arguments. She would think that she was the cause of his frustration and taken it as a sign of weakness on his part, that he might eventually be worn down to agree with her.

The humming intensified in volume, a tune he could not quite place, but would probably recognize if he gave it some thought. Yes, it was definitely something he had heard before, recently too if he was not mistaken.

How was he to carry on a rational conversation with such a distraction? Here he was trying to remember a song when his wife had come to him with matters she thought to be serious. A small laugh sounded in the back of his mind, then the humming resumed, a new tune this time, as off key as the first.

Once she realized that he had no intention of replying, Farah continued, "You're a king now and you need to start acting like one. You may have left here for seven years, but in that time the rest of the world didn't cease to exist."

"Ouch."

On the upside, the voice had ceased its humming after that comment, clearly interested in any conversation that would involve the Prince being berated.

If there was a point to be made by her statement it was lost on him. She may have thought that there was some value in stating the obvious, but such things were unnecessary from his point of view, "I understand that."

"No, no you don't," determination mixed with sorrow filled her voice as she picked up their argument right where it had left off, "Both of our homes are just beginning to recover from the Vizier's mad rampage. Soon enough people will be through with mourning and begin looking for someone to blame. Already there is talk that India, my home, is responsible for the devastation. I can only imagine that something similar is happening with my people."

As she spoke he had heard her approaching him, so that by the time she was done she was able to place a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to get him to face her.

"At least now you know where her true loyalties lay," the voice offered, but he ignored it.

So far it sounded like she was trying to have a repeat of their entire argument, "Yes, we've been over this before. India suffered under the Vizier far longer, so it stands to reason that by the time they're sufficiently recovered we'll be a position to make them think twice about declaring war."

With a small noise of annoyance she actually, physically forced him to turn and face her, "Is all you think about making violence and war? Yes, our kingdoms can end up at war again, and end up in ruins again as well!"

The voice responded enthusiastically to this, "Unless you attack India first, then they end up in ruins and you end up with new land, new riches, new slaves, new –"

"Our kingdoms have never been friendly in the past, this is no different than before," he put his hands on her shoulders to put himself in a better position to look down upon her, to remind her that he was the king and her husband. "If the price of attacking is too steep India will leave us alone, that's how it has worked in the past. I see no reason to try anything different, especially in the current situation. A request for peace will be seen as a sign of weakness."

She pushed his hands away and glared at him, as though the intensity of her gaze could will him to see things her way.

"I can't be king of my own kingdom and another, and you cannot be queen of two kingdoms, so why do you trouble me with rumors from India when my own people are still living in fear that the monsters your traitorous Vizier unleashed upon them will return?" he demanded as he stepped aside so that she could look out over the city and see the portions of it that were still in ruins. If she was going to insist on continuing this, the least he could do was be the reasonable one, let her see how foolish her demands were.

"That's right," the voice chimed in, ready as always with a snide remark, "You can't be king of India unless you plan to make it part of your own kingdom. Give her what she deserves."

For a moment she was silent and he began to hope that she was finally beginning to see the truth of the matter. Then she spoke, "Just because we've been at war doesn't mean that we'll never be at peace. You can change things you know."

At the same time the voice spoke, "Listen to her, a woman telling you how to run your kingdom!"

"Will you stop nagging me!" Too late did he realize that it seemed for all intents and purposes his comment was directed at Farah.

Riotous laughter echoed in his mind as Farah stormed out of the room in tears, "I couldn't have said it better myself. Or were you talking to me?"

"Farah, wait! It's not –"

"It's not what it seems, right? I think we've all heard that one before."

The Prince slumped to the floor, filled with a sense of despair the likes of which he had not felt since on the Island of Time. So much was happening so fast and he was deprived of even what little sanctuary solitude could provide. To be able to be alone with his thoughts might allow him to make some sense of the situation, find a way to make Farah realize that she was mistaken about the whole situation. Now, with her in such a state of hysterics there would be no reasoning with her.

Though it had been his intention to convince Farah to abandon her little argument, bringing her to tears was not something he had planned to do.

Everything was spiraling out of control, never in his life had he expected to find himself in such a situation. Ruling a kingdom was proving to be far more difficult than anything he had previously been through. Before he had only himself to worry about, other people made it all so much more complicated.

As if to prove this the voice spoke again, "Yes, quite the king you are, not even able to control one woman."

If he solitude was not an option a change of scenery was. Even if they had yet to be repaired he was going to the gardens.

It went without saying that no one questioned him about where he was going as he walked through the palace, but it might have helped him if someone had. As the youngest son there had never been any reason to believe that he would find himself in any position of power, struggling to do the best he could for his kingdom when so many things conspired against him. He had never learned to ask for help, though he would not hesitate to accept it if it were to be offered. Some sympathy and assistance would be greatly appreciated.

"What, my advice isn't good enough for you?"

There was no one around at the moment, so it was safe to speak, "Listening to you would only bring about my ruin."

"Really?" came the caustic reply, "You don't seem to need any help with _that_ from what I've seen."

What could he say to that? There was no denying that in his past he had made many terrible mistakes, but he vowed to never make the same mistakes again.

"No, you'll make all new ones."

It was as though it had read his thoughts. Maybe it could, that would certainly explain how it always knew exactly what to say to get him angry. He would have replied to it, but he heard the sound of approaching footsteps and had no desire to run the risk of being heard.

Content to have gotten the last word in for the time being, the voice fell silent. A servant walked past, gave a slight bow and left, leaving him alone again, able to ponder how strange everything had become since his return from the Island of Time.

He had never intended to save Kaileena only to bring her to her death, yet it had happened. The most disturbing thing was that she must have known what awaited them. Why had she not given him some warning of what was to come? He might have been able to save her then and avoid the whole mess he was in now. On the island she had been so determined to live, yet in the end she accepted her death without a struggle. Maybe her actions could be attributed to spite, she had known that he planned to kill her and might not have forgiven him for it despite all he had done. She had made the island a fortress after all, knowing that someday he would arrive to kill her. All of those years of fear and anger might have been too much for her to give up.

"That's how women are," the voice sounded contemplative, perhaps savoring the memory of the events on the island.

For once he was inclined to agree with it though, Farah had also proven that she was capable of holding on to anger for far more time than was proper.

No, he was making an effort to forget about her for now, not to dwell on every tragedy that had ever befallen him because of a woman. Tomorrow when he was calm and his mind was clear he would take care of his problems with her. Walking through the gardens would make it so much easier to think of other things, happier times. If everything else he remembered was in ruins, or changed beyond recognition the gardens would still be the same as always. Some of his earliest childhood adventures had taken place there, playing that had later inspired him to explore outside the palace walls and see the city in a truly unique way. Those memories of carefree times were something to hold onto in the face of all that he now had to deal with.

By the time he was at the gate leading into the gardens, he had banished any notion from his mind that they too might have been touched by time and war.

"Ooh, cheerful!" Malicious glee colored the words as he stepped outside into the warm night air. Nothing could have prepared him for the sight that greeted his eyes.

The gardens were in ruins, in even worse condition than when he had passed through it on his way to defeating the Vizier. Then the plants had only been suffering from a few days worth the neglect, some of the more delicate plants just beginning to wilt with weeds starting grow in amongst the flowers.

Now the harsh climate had taken its toll, leaving the gardens desolate, not a single thing remained alive as far as he could tell. Even the hardiest of weeds had given up on trying to survive.

It was like seeing his home in ruins all over again, a recent wound being ripped open to bleed anew.

Dry grass rustled as he walked along stone paths past dust filled pools. A gentle breeze blew dust along the ground, swirling around his feet.

Maybe some of the hardier ornamental trees would recover with proper care, but as far as he could tell the gardens would have to be started again from scratch.

Not even the roses had been spared. They were by no means his favorite flower, but they were a garden constant, one simply could not have a garden without roses. All that remained were shriveled buds and blackened leaves clinging to dry stems. Still, there might still be life remaining in them. Sometimes plants did go dormant after all, just as the voice had until earlier.

Reaching out to one of the pathetic plants, he ran a nail along the bark with the intent to scrape a bit away to see if there was green underneath, a sign that it could still be saved. Instead the desiccated twig snapped in his grip, causing a number of thorns to sink deep into the palm of his hand.

A smug snort sounded in his mind as he shook his hand in the air to dislodge the thorns.

Bright drops of blood spattered against dead leaves, a color as rich and deep as rose petals.

"And the point of that was?"

He ignored the voice as he attempted to work out one last particularly stubborn thorn. When it came free he allowed himself a small, grim smile of satisfaction. If only all hurts could be fixed so easily, if only.

"But it doesn't work that way."

"The sands are gone, you have no place here," alone, he was able to speak freely without worrying that anyone might hear him and think him mad.

"It was the sands that awakened me," the voice spoke in a knowing tone, lecturing him, "I existed long before then and will not cease to exist simply because it would please you if I were to do so."

"What are you then?" Perhaps discovering its nature would give him some clue as how to finally be rid of it.

"We've been over this before Prince."

Yes, it had claimed to be his better half, among other things, "I refuse to believe your lies, you are not a part of me."

His voice had risen in volume as the conversation progressed. No longer bothered to speak quietly he was yelling at the thing within him, not thinking that he might be overheard. The outrage he felt now made his argument with Farah seem like nothing, he had been a fool for getting dragged into such a petty disagreement. Once rid of the voice he would seek her out and put matters to rest once and for all.

"Denial always was your strong suit."

That comment struck a nerve and he responded far more loudly than he had intended, "I will be rid of you!"

A number of birds were startled from their roost in one of the dead trees and made quite a commotion as they flew off to find a more tranquil place to spend the night. Other than that there was no response to his outburst. The voice remained silent, thought he could not help but think the silence to be a pensive one.

Lingering in the garden a while longer he waited to see if any further comments would come. If the voice were to continue tormenting him he wanted to be in a position where he would be able to respond, rather than be forced to suffer in silence.

Tomorrow he would see to it that something be done about the gardens. Despite the fact that there was still much to do to restore the city, he needed the sense of escape that they could provide, a place to be away from all his troubles. Also, it would probably be easy enough to restore them, providing him with one place where there was a sense of normalcy.

Soon the not quite silence that filled the gardens became too much to bear. The rattling of dead branches and hiss of the wind through dry grass combined with the darkness made them seem a place from a nightmare.

He sighed as he left the ruined gardens and returned to his bedchambers, expecting the voice to resume tormenting him at any moment. Rather than serve to comfort him, the silence from it brought to mind the calm before the storm.

A servant girl was there in his room, waiting for him, but he dismissed her with a wave. After all that he had been through he felt no desire for feminine company.

Emotionally exhausted he collapsed onto the bed and soon fell into a restless sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** Again, thank you Caroline.

* * *

A knock on the door awakened him. He knew it was Farah since after knocking she opened the door without even waiting for him to say that she was allowed to come in.

It was not even daylight yet, which might have explained the vague sense of wrongness that he felt, and somehow she was already recovered enough to continue arguing with him. Such tenacity would be admirable in any other situation, now it only served to remind him of his mistakes, that he had been far too lenient with Farah for far too long. It was a mistake that he was paying the price for.

Ignoring her was not an option for she was already standing by his bed, looking down at him. For her to put him in such a position was absolutely out of line. Perhaps she thought that coming to him when he was at a disadvantage would force him to concede. She really was getting too bold, her disrespect was insufferable.

"Prince?" By the tone of her voice she still had not given up.

Did she truly intend to continue this exactly as before? This time he would not let it go that far, it was time for him to put his foot down.

"No, I'm though with this argument," as he spoke he struggled to untangle himself from his bed linens. That she would do such a thing to him was intolerable, the time had come to remind her of her place, as his wife.

She stood there with her hands on her hips, getting ready to say something more, but he at last freed himself and rose to his feet, putting his hands on her shoulders. Staring into her eyes he dared her to continue now that he was on equal footing with her.

His anger did not disturb her at all, for she began to speak anyway, "You are –"

Before she could continue he gave her a sharp shake, "Did you not hear me the first time? I said that I'm through with this."

Perhaps he was being more rough with her than he had intended, but that only proved how tired he was.

"Unhand me!" Her voice was filled with indignity as she tried to push him away, but he only gripped her tighter, refusing to let her get away until he was sure that she had given up on trying to tell him how to run his kingdom and his life.

Something was very wrong, though he could not figure out what it was just yet, the vague feeling of unease he had from the start was only growing worse. It could have been a sign that he was too tired and had let the situation get too far out of hand. There was also the chance that what he felt was due to the absurdity of the situation, that he was arguing with his wife at such an early hour. What had he done to cause her to think that she could get away with being so far out of line? He expected the voice to make some snide suggestion about the reason for that, but it remained strangely silent.

Maybe he was being too harsh with her, but if he was it was her fault.

The time had come to teach Farah a lesson, unless he wanted the argument to continue indefinitely. Choosing the right words would be vital, if he failed to make his point absolutely clear anything he said would only prolong the ordeal.

Farah on the other hand did not have to pause to give thought to her comments, driven as she was by anger.

"I was mistaken to think that there was anything good in you!" She punctuated this statement by slapping him across the face.

Her words stung more than the slap, but unlike earlier her hitting him failed to shock him into abandoning the point he was trying to make. That she would say such a thing to him after he had let her get away with so much was proof that she was ungrateful for the amount of freedom he let her have. The time for being lenient with her had come to an end.

Her words rang in his ears, everything went out of focus save for her look of contempt. He would make sure she never looked at him that way again. Drawing back his right arm he backhanded her across the face, the blow landing with a resounding crack "Never speak to me that way again, never tell me what to do again."

As her head jerked back form the impact her braid brushed across his face. He flinched away and saw the mark of his hand on her cheek.

Terror filled him. He had not even given any thought to hitting her. Though the words he had said were as he had intended them to be the hatred in his voice did not reflect how he felt. He was angry with her and disgusted with himself, but he was not yet at the point where he would threaten her, nor would he have raised his hand to her, yet he found himself helpless to do anything to keep from hitting her again.

This time when he hit her she let out a little hiss of pain and swayed slightly.

He continued hitting her, hard enough to hurt, but not hard enough to do any lasting damage. With the sound of each impact he winced, still he was unable to stop himself.

When she went limp in his grip he hit her one last time, then released her shoulder and let her fall to the floor.

One of the blows must have split her lip, for there was a thin trail of blood flowing from her mouth. His face twisted into a smile of satisfaction while he mentally screamed in horror at what was happening, still helpless to do anything to stop himself.

He knelt down besides her, reaching out to brush a hand against the side of her face. She flinched and weakly struggled to crawl away. Still smiling, he spoke to her, "You're afraid of me now, aren't you?"

Though it was his own voice he heard, he recognized the words and tone as those of the voice that normally lurked in the back of his mind.

Farah continued her attempt to crawl away, but he reached out and grabbed her by the neck.

"No!"

He shouted, or so he thought. The only sound to escape his lips was a laugh. A prisoner in his own body, he could only watch as he pulled Farah back close to him, "You'd best be afraid of me."

"Stop this!" he tired shout again, realizing now that what had once been just a voice in the back of his mind had somehow taken over his body while he slept, "Let her go!"

His arm was shaking, more than could be explained by the effort needed to hold Farah against him.

Maybe he could regain control of himself, he had to unless he wanted to watch helplessly as Farah was killed.

"I won't let you do this!" his silent cry of defiance was meaningless unless he could figure out a way to force his body to obey him, rather than the thing that possessed him.

He tired to let go, to push, anything he could do that would allow Farah a chance to escape his grip. She was not going to be able to last much longer, already her struggles were growing weaker and her eyes were beginning to roll back in her head.

Nothing in all of his experiences could have prepared him for this, to be so truly powerless. There had to be a way, if it had taken control of his body it stood to reason that he should be able to take it back. Just as he had been able to drive away the taint of the sands, he would drive out what possessed him

As he tried to recall the emotions that had allowed him to repress the sands back then he heard himself speak again, nearly breaking his concentration, "This is what you deserve."

It was impossible for him to tell if the words were directed at Farah or himself, not that it mattered.

The world narrowed down until all he could focus on were Farah's eyes, not pleading but angry. She was not about to give up without a fight and neither could he. Having her alive and furious at him was acceptable, having her dead by his hands was unthinkable.

Her struggles grew stronger now, giving him hope.

Sweat ran down into his eyes, threatening to blind him. He brought up his hand to try and wipe it away, but his vision fade abruptly to black and he passed out.

The next thing he knew he was sprawled out on the floor next to his bed, drenched in sweat.

Farah was nowhere to be seen. Had she already recovered and run from him, or had it just been a nightmare?

"Farah!" he called out to her, simultaneously hoping for and dreading a response. The one he received was not at all what he had been looking for.

"Well, that was interesting," the tone the voice spoke in implied that it found the experience pleasant, as well as interesting.

"What have you done?" In the unlikely event that his one sided conversation drew attention it could be blamed on a nightmare, "Answer me!"

"I've done nothing, what have you done?"

It was right, though he hated admitting that. Any actions he took, even if they were of no fault of his own, he would have to take responsibility for them, "How were you able to do that?"

Rather than respond, it laughed, not that he had been expecting an answer anyway. Talking to it any further would be a waste of time, he had to find Farah to be sure that it had all been a dream.

"And what if she runs at the sight of you, livid bruises just beginning to show on her neck?" It took immense pleasure in the imagery it described and the way that imagery made him hurry even faster.

"Where are you going in such a hurry anyway?"

Again it was right, he had no idea where Farah might have run to.

"So you do believe it happened?"

"I am going to Farah's sleeping chambers and I expect to find her there, asleep," saying so made it feel more real. He would find here there and she would be asleep.

Though he tried not to let anxiety get the better of him he ended up sprinting through the hall to get to her room. All the while the voice made small noises of mock pity, commenting from time to time about how silly it was for him to get so upset about one foolish woman.

The door to her room was shut and for a moment he hesitated, leaning heavily against it, afraid of what he might find within.

"Kakolookiyam," he whispered as he reached to open the door. He knew that the foolish word held no power to make things right, but it was Farah's word and it felt right to say it.

"You've got to be kidding me," the voice sighed before bursting into laughter.

Her room was empty.

"What now?" it managed to get out amid fits of giggles.

Maybe there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for why Farah was not asleep in her room, something so simple that he was overlooking it in his haste.

He slammed his fist against the door in a futile gesture of rage, "Answer me creature, was all that a dream?"

"Do you," it had to pause for a moment since it was still laughing, "Do you really want to know the answer? I think you just want to be told what you want to hear."

"So it was real?"

"Fine, it was all just a dream. Feel better now?" by this time it was no longer laughing, but amusement was still apparent in its voice.

Getting a straight answer from it was clearly impossible. Convinced as he was that it knew the truth, he was also sure that withheld that information for the sake of tormenting him.

"Or because the truth and what you want to hear might be two very different things. It's amusing to watch you wonder, to see you as powerless as I am."

A statement such as that could have many meanings, trying to determine which were true would be a waste of time since none would serve to help him find Farah. Someone must have seen her, there were only so many places that she could hide.

He would search the palace from top to bottom until he found her, even if it took all night.

"Your highness?"

Startled, he turned to face two servants who he had never even heard approach, "What? What are you doing here?"

His tone was made harsh by surprise combined with his already foul mood and they began to stammer an explanation, giving him the impression that they may have been doing something that they felt he would not approve of.

"Never mind," he cut them off, "Have you seen Farah?"

"She-she is not with you?" the more bold of the pair managed.

They were terrified and he found that he did not care, "Would I be asking if she was? No, don't say anything, just help me find her."

Grateful to be able to leave, even on such an odd task, they both bowed and rushed off.

"Someone's not thinking."

"Wait!" The servants froze, just about to turn a corner and be out of sight, "Inform the guards, tell everyone. I want everyone in the palace looking for her."

"That's better."

"I am not looking for your approval," he hissed under his breath.

"No, but I like to remind you that you do need my help."

"I do not," he would have elaborated, but another group of servants passed by, one stopping to bow to him and report their progress.

"We have already searched this hall and the guards have been informed," with that the servant rushed off to join the rest of the group, all of whom were talking in hushed voices amongst themselves.

"See what servants are for? They follow orders. Otherwise you would have spent the whole night trying to do this on your own," it spoke, unbothered by the fact that there were others nearby. Since no one else could hear it, it could afford to be bold. It also took great pleasure in how the Prince had to hold his tongue, even as he grew increasingly frustrated with its comments.

The Prince found himself forced to ignore what it said as the entire palace mobilized to search for Farah. He would have assumed that worrying about Farah would have made it easier to ignore the voice, but it always managed to find something to say that struck a nerve.

More often than not in each room he came to and each corridor he went down he found a servant who informed him that the area had already been thoroughly inspected and that Farah had yet to be found. Much to the voice's amusement, these encounters left him feeling increasingly useless.

In the end all that turned up were three guards who had fallen asleep at their posts. Not a trace of Farah had been found in the palace, though some of her servants had gone through her possessions and reported that a number of items were missing. Her bow and arrows, traveling clothes and an assortment of other things were not to be found, all indicating that she had left the palace.

After receiving this news he went to his room to begin planning what he was going to do. Farah was likely still somewhere in the city and if she had already left he had a fairly good idea where she would be going, back home to India. How she planned to make it all the way there alone he had no clue, but he did not doubt for a moment that if she put her mind to it she could. She was determined, maybe too determined, otherwise it never would have come to this.

The voice remained silent as he changed into clothing appropriate for traveling, it was not until he began looking for which sword he was going to take that it finally chimed in with one of its typically sarcastic comments.

"Please don't tell me you're planning on doing what I think you are."

"What would you recommend then?" he selected a sword and swung it through the air as he spoke, wishing that he had found a way to finish off the voice back when he had the chance. Running now seemed like the most foolish thing he could have done, once again something to blame on Farah. If not for her he would have stayed and fought it.

"I really don't know what I _would_ do, but I know what I _wouldn't_ do. That of course being abandoning my kingdom to chase after a girl. Are you sure that you even want to be king?"

Hating it was made so much easier by the fact that it managed to be consistently loathsome and consistently right, "What would you recommend then?"

"Forgetting about her. You can take any woman you want and they're bound to be more agreeable than her."

"You are easily the most foul creature I have ever encountered."

"But that doesn't stop me from being right. That's what you can't stand."

Putting down his sword the Prince made his way to the ruined gardens for the second time that night. By the time dawn came he vowed to have a plan.


	4. Chapter 4

The plan he had come up with was a disappointment to him, not because of any shortcomings it might have possessed, but because there was no place for him in it. Every soldier who was not performing a job essential to the reconstruction effort was out scouring the city to find Farah. He had also seen to it that the palace guards who had fallen asleep at their posts were properly punished. A concession to both the voice and his frustration. Seeing that someone was held accountable for Farah's leaving helped distract him from the fact that he was unable to go out and look for her himself. This left him with nothing to do other than sit and wait, except he never had nothing to do anymore.

The long, idle hours that defined his childhood and allowed him all the time he could desire to explore the city were nothing more than a distant memory. To have responsibilities was strange and more than a bit disconcerting. Worst of all was that none of it held his interest well enough to provide a distraction from what might have happened the previous night.

After having gotten no more than an hour of sleep the entire night, he had hardly found the time to make himself presentable before he was expected to meet with a number of carpenters, masons, architects and assorted other artisans to discuss the progress being made in the repairs. By the time he actually entered the room where they were assembled they had all arrived and were already arguing about how best to manage the rebuilding. When he entered they fell into a respectful silence and rose until he took his seat. Then, the instant he was seated, murmured discussion began again.

Far from being offended, he allowed them to talk amongst themselves while he gathered his thoughts. Every single one of the previous meetings of this sort that had been held so far had been exactly the same. Each man was convinced that his pet project was priority or that he knew best how the others should go about doing their jobs. He got the impression that they were all trying to impress him since the repairs made so far to the palace consisted of only what was needed to stabilize the structure so that it was safe to live in. They were all vying for his recognition and the money and fame that would come from being selected to restore the palace to its former glory. Their efforts were by and large wasted, for he was unable to remember the names of the vast majority of them, only their occupations and more negative personality traits made any of them stand out in his mind.

His presence was hardly needed at this point since each man was an expert in his field while he knew nothing of stonemasonry, carpentry or anything of it. All he had to do was nod his head at the right times, tell them to carry on as they were, and from time to time make an effort to curb infighting. There was also the matter of making sure that their efforts received the required funding, but he believed their desire to impress kept them honest about the amount of money needed for repairs.

During most of these meetings he was able to get by without saying much at all. He realized though that this was going to be one of the exceptions when a rather scruffy looking man he recognized as a carpenter working in one of the more wealthy sections of the city, stood up to speak.

"So much for catching up on your sleep."

He was so tired that he nearly spoke out loud to agree with it. Catching himself in time, he waited for the carpenter to say whatever it was on his mind, not that he expected it to be anything different than any of the previous times this happened. He had come to suspect that the man was well financed by his clients to the point where he assumed that his projects could take priority.

The Prince allowed himself some small pleasure by making no effort to silence the others to allow the carpenter to begin to speak. More progress was being made by the separate discussions anyway.

"If you know what he's going to say why do you even need to listen to him before telling him to be quiet?"

A very good question, something he had wondered about before and had never found a satisfactory answer.

"So, how long is he going to stand there looking self important?"

He wished he could reply to that, just to be able to break the monotony. The answer was as long as it took, the carpenter, whatever his name was, always managed to convey an air of being better than those around him, even if the Prince would have mistaken him for a cutpurse had they met in the street.

"First impressions tend to be correct impressions."

By now the scruffy looking carpenter had realized that the Prince had no intention of stopping conversation to allow him to speak. He slammed his open palms against the table to bring everyone's attention to him. That in itself would have been fine, but he also had to comment about what he thought to be his unfair treatment, "It seems that our dear king grows bored with our discussion to the point where he risks falling asleep."

"He noticed," the voice quipped lightly.

The Prince became aware that all eyes were on him. He knew how he must look, dark circles under his eyes as he struggled to sit up straight and seem interested.

Satisfied that he had gotten away with his little jab, the carpenter continued, "But there is much that we need to do and I believe that too much of our scarce resources have been diverted away from the most essential projects."

"I'm getting the sense that his essential isn't really all that essential."

"Your right."

A murmur ran down the table at the Prince's seeming agreement.

He was tired, he was frustrated and he was in no mood to have his time wasted so he continued speaking before any of them could recover. The first time he had spoken it had been to the voice, but it worked in this situation as well, so he stood up and said it again louder to emphasize his point, "You're right on both accounts. Valuable resources are being wasted and you bore me."

"Hear, hear!" the voice said, "You're finally getting the idea."

"I don't understand how repairing the shop of some wealthy merchant is so important when we don't even have docks to ship goods from and I honestly don't care. I'm confident that you each know what you're doing, that you know more about your respective jobs than I do, so I don't see why you need my approval to repair the city. These meetings are a waste of your time and mine as far as I can see. The first few might have been necessary for organization, but now it's always the same things, the same few complaints being brought up by the same few people, I tell you to keep doing what you're doing and then we all leave and continue working.

"From now on I don't want any more meetings unless they're to discuss an actual problem. Is that clear?"

None of them had anything more to say after that. The carpenter managed to look indignant for a moment and might have raised some form of protest had it not been for the fact that the majority of the men were already making their way to the door.

"Do you have something to say?" the Prince glared at him, wondering if the man really would try to test his patience which was already wearing thin.

The carpenter practically ran out the door.

As soon as the last of them had left the Prince slumped down into his chair and sighed, "What now?"

"Was that a rhetorical question or do you really want my input?"

He slouched down further in the chair and stared at the ceiling, "If I did would you give me an honest answer rather than your usual scorn?"

"An honest answer? Fine, get some sleep."

"What, so you can take over my body again?"

It laughed, but it sounded as tired as he was, "Some king you are, afraid of going to sleep because you might have nightmares."

"So you admit it was a dream?" he sat up a little bit straighter.

"I don't know, why don't you ask Farah?"

A loud yawn kept him from responding as he pushed away from the table and walked out of the room.

As he went to his chambers he walked by a trio of servant girls who had been talking quietly about something. When he passed they fell silent and he could have sworn that one of them looked at him rather nervously. Were they talking about him?

"Ask them. You shouldn't tolerate any disrespect from the likes of them."

Ignoring it, he kept walking. Maybe they were talking about him, maybe one of them had overheard him yelling at Farah, or had seen her when she ran from his room. Maybe they had overheard him talking to the voice. They might think him crazy.

"Because there are so many valid reasons to be talking to yourself," even if it was tired, it was still as bitter as ever.

In his room he refused to lie down to sleep right away for he still feared that he might lose control to the voice if he were to do so. Instead he searched through his possessions until he found a number of maps and sat down at his desk to look them over. If Farah had made it out of the city and started on her way to India the least he could do was plot out the possible routes she might have taken so that he could have his men head her off and bring her back. This would allow him to feel that he was doing something to bring her back even if he could not be out there actively searching for her.

He began to examine those paths, making notes about which would be fastest, which were the most well traveled and which would likely be too difficult to be worth considering. Soon his planning degraded to absent minded scribbling as the maps faded in and out of focus. How had he managed when he was running from the Dahaka? It seemed that then he had gone for whole weeks without any rest.

"Yes, and during that time you were half out of your mind."

"I was running for my life, never in my life had I been so afraid," he murmured, eyes half closed.

No response came.

"I had to –"

He trailed off and rested his head in his hands, trying to focus on the maps. Perhaps if he were to just close his eyes for a moment his vision would clear.

Dreams of being chased blended seamlessly with those of fighting alongside Farah when the sands had first been unleashed. He watched her fall to her death over and over again, each time a little different. Sometimes she had time for last words, other times she fell in silence, worst were the times when he could not tell which of them had ended up catching the dagger by its blade and whether is was her or himself that was being cut during his efforts to save her. Was he hurting her?

He then found himself on the Island of Time, where he was killing Kaileena, only when she looked up at him to tell him that he was doomed to fail it was Farah instead of the Empress. All he could do was hold her as she died, her blood flowing all over his hands. He had no time to ponder the meaning of this, for then Dahaka arrived to pursue him, even though it should not have been there. Tendrils of darkness reached out for him, but as they came closer he could see that they were really bladed chains like the one which Mahasti had wielded on the palace balcony.

He ran to escape the darkness and blades only for ground beneath him to vanish. Falling through the darkness of the well he frantically tried to grab onto something to stop his descent.

Below him a number of wooden beams jutted out from the walls, one of which he was able to grab onto only to have the rotted wood break under his weight. If nothing else, it had served to slow his fall, allowing him to try again and again. Each time the beam shattered, but each time it further slowed his fall until, by random chance, he landed on one that finally held. It caught him square in the chest, knocking the wind out of him. Recovery cost him time he did not have, for he could hear the ancient wood beginning to give way under his weight. He had seconds to do something before he was falling again.

A rope that he had not noticed moments ago now dangled just a few feet from him. Unlike everything else in the bottomless pit he was trapped in the rope looked sturdy, new even.

Feet of distance may as well have miles since from where he was he could not reach it. Beneath him the wood began to break up, he could feel splinters sinking into his chest. He had but one chance, and without the dagger there would be no retries.

Pushing up with all his might he was able to bring himself fully onto the beam, get his feet under him and use it to provide him with the leverage to lunge for the rope. The force of his jump caused the beam to finally break the rest of the way, meaning that the jump had only half of the force he had desired.

No retires, no making up for lost time.

His fingers just barely brushed against the rope. Reflexively he grabbed at it and found himself swinging like a pendulum. By some miracle he had actually managed to hold on to ride it out until the momentum wore down and the swinging slowed.

On the second swing back he felt the rope change in his grip, rough fibers seemed to flow like water as the object in his hand, no longer a rope, became smooth and cold.

Its new nature became apparent when he felt dozens of blades sink into his flesh as it wrapped around his arm. By the time the echoes of his scream died away the pain had stopped and he found himself standing on solid ground.

Either it had grown lighter, or his eyes were adjusting to the gloom, for he began to be able to pick out details of his surroundings. Somehow he had ended up in the chamber than contained the mask of the wraith.

Up ahead he could see the dais where a mummified body sat, bound in place by ropes and wires. On the upturned face of the corpse was the mask. With it he would be able to go back and undo all his mistakes, stop himself from ruining his own life. He could go back and stop himself from getting into the argument with Farah, or go farther still and prevent Kaileena from being killed. That did not have to be the limit though, instead of stopping there he could go further and make it so that he never had that falling out with his father over fears that he had been unwilling to discuss. The Dahaka and Vizier would still be problems though, so stopping there was not an option either. Farther still, to the very source of the problem, he would need to go all the way back to the attack on India.

As he walked towards the mask, the chain of blades embedded in his arm dragged behind him, clanking on the floor, serving to remind him of what he was trying to get away from. If the sands had awakened it then the voice would remain asleep forever without them.

Stopping himself when he first unleashed the sands would not work, he had to be there when he first took the dagger. He would sneak into the palace amid all the chaos of the attack and wait in the vault where the dagger was kept. When the past version of himself, full of foolish ideas about pride and the like, came to take it he would put a stop to it all. He would return to his father with the dagger and knowledge of the Vizier's plot, which he would find a way to put a stop to before arriving at Azad, leaving his father to wonder how over the course of one little battle his son had become so cynical and world weary.

Now that he knew what it did, would he be able to don the mask?

The armor the corpse wore was different this time, like that which he had worn on the island.

He took the mask, feeling its weight. It was far heavier than something so small should have been and despite being made of metal and hidden in a chamber deep underground it was warm to the touch. Putting it on would hurt terribly, if he had known the pain that came with having his humanity stripped away he never would have put it on so quickly the first time. Now he knew the pain he would have to face and took time to brace himself for it.

He looked at the writing on the inside, 'They say knowledge is power, but I say it is poison.'

Closing his eyes, he raised the mask and was jolted backwards.

"What?"

Not the most intelligent thing to say in his situation, but it was all he could think of to say as he fell backwards out of the chair he had fallen asleep in.

He managed to tumble properly so that he was unhurt, which was more than could be said for the chair.

"Don't blame me, that one was all yours," the voice sounded quite well rested and as sarcastic as ever.

Judging by the sunlight streaming in through the window, it was late afternoon. He had only been asleep for a few hours despite all that had happened in his dreams.

The Prince rubbed the sleep from his eyes and set about gathering up the scattered maps and writing implements. He paused to look at the map he had been working with when he had fallen asleep. Even with a portion of it smeared beyond recognition he was able to recognize what he had been doodling right before being overtaken by sleep.

They were battle plans for an attack on India, and not half bad considering the circumstances under which he had come up with them.

"Your father would be proud."

He rolled the map up and roughly shoved it into one of the compartments of his desk, "I know."


	5. Chapter 5

To say that he had gotten a good night's sleep would have been a lie after the dreams he had, but at least he was rested and alert enough to think coherently. This clarity allowed him to realize that there was one area of the palace that may not have been searched as thoroughly as the rest. No one would dare walk into the serving girls' quarters uninvited, if a search was done in there it would have been by the women themselves. For this reason it was quite possible that Farah had sought refuge in there and told the other woman not to let it be known that she was with them. Women did feel the need to stick together and seeing the condition that Farah was in they would likely have offered her sympathy and sanctuary. All he had to do was get one of them to talk to him about the situation so that he could express his desire to speak with Farah. That way he could settle things once and for all and put his mind at ease, enabling him to focus on more important matters, like getting rid of the voice.

He sent for one of the servants to bring the youngest of the girls to his chambers so that he might speak to her. The logic behind this was that the youngest of them was least likely to have any strong loyalties to the other women and would be most likely to give him the information he wanted with minimal fuss. It would be easy for him to gain her trust and get the answers he wanted since it stood to reason that she would be awed at the prospect of speaking to him. With luck he would be speaking to Farah before the day was halfway through.

The only difficulty that might arise was that the voice had found the plan to be interesting. It had been pestering him about it ever since the idea occurred to him.

"I'm glad to see that you're getting over Farah. Moping is unbefitting for a king."

Frowning, he replied, "I am not looking for a replacement for Farah, I am going to question the girl to find out where she is."

"Will we _question_ each girl in turn if we have to?"

"I do not think that will be necessary," he ignored what else might have been implied by the comment.

Full of malicious glee it continued, "How many do you think you'll need to _question_ until you're satisfied?"

That statement was not worth dignifying with a response.

He had left the door open so that the girl could walk right in, the more inviting the situation seemed, the more likely she was to relax and speak freely. As soon as he heard footsteps coming down the hall he sat down on his bed and thought of how best to greet her. Conversation was his goal, not intimidation.

His eyes went wide at the sight of the girl when she came into view.

"Oh my," the voice was fighting back laughter.

It was a good thing that the servant girl chose that moment to bow, for it gave him time to recover from his shock. There was no way she could have been any more than twelve years of age. Why she held such a position so young was something he did not care to try and figure out.

"Position?" the voice clearly intended to find some way to play with that word and what alternate meanings it had.

"You called for me your highness?" Her soft spoken question may have been more of a statement than anything else, one carrying curiosity and more than a small amount of interest.

"Yes, come in," he motioned for her to enter the room.

Nodding she closed the door behind her and came forward.

Too late he realized that he probably should have been standing when she arrived for there was no place he could offer her to sit since he had yet to get a new chair.

While he worried about how to manage the situation the voice was noticing other things, "Twelve and she still has a better figure than Farah. Nothing near what the Empress had, but still."

With another present he felt especially powerless over the voice since he had to suffer its comments in silence, unable to defend himself from its verbal assaults.

"Physical assaults are more your style anyway."

Aside from the voice, an awkward silence was beginning to grow. He had to come up with something to say, but nature of the situation drove all ideas from his mind. The only thing he could think of was how very uncomfortable the situation was turning out to be.

The girl, for he could not even begin to think of her as a young woman, continued to stand and watch him with a rather unusual expression on her face. It was understandable that she was amazed to have been called in to speak with him, but he was getting the impression that any interest she had in him was more than merely academic. What she did next only served to back up this theory.

"After all you've been through you must be lonely and want someone to talk to," the way she said 'talk' was unpleasantly similar to the way the voice had said 'question' earlier. That she sat down next to him on the bed after saying this might have had something to do with it as well.

"Smart kid, I like this one."

If the voice's comment was not bad enough, the girl lifted her hand to brush a few strands of hair away from his eyes. For some reason the only thought to occur to him was that he really should have gotten a haircut now that he was no longer on the run and should have been able to find time for it.

Her eyes showed mild surprise as she noticed one of several scars on his face, "Was that from fighting the monsters?"

"Which one?" he figured she was referring to either the notch missing from his left eyebrow or the long thin scar running down the right side of his face.

"Yes, is she talking about the one you got falling out of a tree, or the one you got brutalizing a woman?"

"Shahdee was one of the sand creatures," he retorted without thinking.

She ran her fingers gently across the scar, "Oh how terrible, you had to fight someone you knew? I can understand if you do not wish to be reminded of such things."

Before he could stop her she had kissed him and then turned away, blushing furiously.

He hoped that her efforts ended there, with a story she could tell to make all the other girls envious.

"Well, this is certainly getting us nowhere."

Ignoring the voice he spoke to the girl, "If you do not mind, there is something I would like to ask you."

The girl turned to face him again, leaning heavily against his side, not that one as little as she could really lean all that heavily. Her eyes were wide and it was obvious that she was trying to act as though nothing about the situation was out of the ordinary for her, "What would that be your highness?"

"Yes, what would that be?" the voice inquired, distracting him for a moment, "It seems that the only thing that you know to do with women is to assault them."

"I will not hurt –" he stopped when he realized that he was talking out loud again. At least it had been in a rather calm tone, now he just had to think of some way to turn what he had started to say into something relevant to the question he had planned to ask.

"I trust you your highness," the girl snuggled closer to him and he pulled away. A child was making advances upon him and he was unable to think of a way to put a stop to the situation.

"Make an advance of your own, or do what you usually do and hit her. That would certainly put a stop to her advances."

He had to stop allowing the situation to fluster him despite the combined efforts of the girl and the voice. His plan was to determine if Farah was still in the palace and he intended to stick to it.

The voice began snickering.

"What?"

The girl stopped what she had been doing and looked up at him, "Your highness?"

He tired to find some way to justify the seemingly random question, only to realize why the voice had been so amused, "What are you doing?"

While he had been distracted by the voice's comments and his own thoughts the girl had managed to unfasten two of the belts he wore and was in the process of unbuckling the third, having discovered by elimination that it was the only one that had any purpose other than ornamentation.

"Stop that right now," he was uncertain if he had been talking to the girl or the voice, which had burst into laughter, not that it mattered either way. From his point of view there was no humor to be found in the situation, the girl clearly had no idea what it was that she was doing and for that reason he could think of no way to tell her that she was mistaken about his intentions.

"Prince, if not for what you did with the Empress on the way back home I would think that during your seven years on the run you forgot what to do with women."

Luckily the girl spoke before there was any danger that he might slip up and respond to that comment, "So you just wish to talk then?"

"Yes, since what happened with Farah I have been very," he had to pause to find the right word.

"Lonely?" the girl offered.

That would work, if the girl felt sympathetic towards him she would tell him where Farah was hiding.

"If she's still in the palace and not out on the streets, probably dead down some dark alleyway."

It took considerable effort, but he was able to refrain from responding that comment, even if it did bring unpleasant images to mind, "Yes, it torments me not knowing where she is, if she's alright."

"It was terrible of her to run off like that," the servant girl said in the most condemning voice she could manage, "You shouldn't worry about her, it was her people that attacked us after all."

What could he say to something like that? The situation was already out of his control and he was now convinced that Farah truly had left the palace, for he doubted that a servant would have the irreverence to say such things otherwise.

"Alright, you've got your answer, now are you going to have some fun?"

Just then there was a knock at the door, sparing him for the time being, of having to think of what to say to either the voice or the girl.

"What is it?"

Whoever it was, they did not open the door so their explanation was indistinct at best, "Your highness, I hate to interrupt you, but I just come to remind you that you do have to meet with the merchants shortly."

He stifled an oath, for he had forgotten all about that. Getting up he began to fumble with his belts, "I understand. I will be there soon enough."

"After that will you try again with a different servant girl?" the voice inquired, "Make sure you specify the age so you don't get another surprise like that."

Then he turned to the servant girl, "You are dismissed. Do not bother waiting for me."

Still fumbling with the last of his belts he opened the door, waited for the girl to leave, and then stepped out into the hall where the servant who had reminded him of the meeting was still waiting. There was a long, unpleasant silence during which the voice again began to laugh hysterically.

The Prince realized that no matter what he did, he would be in no state of mind to deal with other people's complaints anytime soon.

"Yes, you might slip up and say what you really think," the voice stopped laughing long enough to comment.

"Tell them that due to other matters beyond my control I will not be able to meet with them," before the servant could say anything the Prince stepped back into his room and closed the door.

"So, now what?"

"I find something to do to justify what I have said," it disturbed him how natural it was for him to be talking to something that was not there.

"You're no fun."

"And you're no help."

Its only reply was a dismissive snort.

He could almost feel it watching him, plotting against him as he paced the room, trying to figure out what he should do. There had to be something obvious that he was missing. Ever since the repair efforts had began in earnest he found himself having to deal with people's expectations. Reclaiming his kingdom had been easy compared to what came afterwards. Seven years on the run had left him out of practice in dealing with others.

"So, are you going to keep walking back and forth until you've worn a rut in the floor?"

"I don't suppose you have any useful ideas," the Prince was confident that it was just trying to anger him, doing what it could to make him miserable as there was nothing else it could do.

"Prince, all there is for me to do is wait and plan. Unlike you I have nowhere to go to seek out distractions," it said this without bitterness, proud that it found ways to occupy its time as well as mock him.

What it had to say was likely to be more of the same, suggestions so terrible that they were useless, but he had to hear its idea before he could dismiss it, otherwise it would use that to torment him as well, "Fine, what is it you've seen that I've missed?"

"The obvious, that you can't do this alone."

"I have no intent of starting to turn to you for advice."

"As though you aren't already, but you miss the point. No king runs his kingdom alone, he has countless advisors, experts in all topics he may encounter and enough of them so that he rarely has to be the one to listen to the complaints of the people unless he wants to. I can't believe it's taken you so long to realize this," the voice ended, radiating smugness.

"You've clearly spent a great deal of time thinking this over," distain dripped from every word the Prince spoke, "So how do you propose we begin? The palace was hardest hit by the Vizier's attack after all, most of the men who served under my father are likely dead."

A long suffering sigh sounded in his mind, "Prince you would do anything to spite me, even when the only one you hurt is yourself. You hate me because I'm right."

"Fine, I am willing to agree that I cannot manage the kingdom alone, anything to stop your nagging."

"So shall we try to remedy this problem, or would you rather continue to wallow in self pity."

"I do not wallow in self pity," he snapped at it.

"Well then, what are you doing now?"

He realized that having the last word against it was a futile effort and decided to humor it for the time being. There was always the chance it was just trying to antagonize him anyway.

"So, who do you suggest?" he asked, waiting to see if it would even have a response.

To his surprise it gave five names in quick succession.

He started to object, but then realized that he did not have a reply to that, besides he recognized at least one of the names as belonging to a man that his father had trusted.

"Alright, we'll do it your way."


	6. Chapter 6

By the time darkness came they had a list of at least twenty individuals they needed to find, provided that the men were still alive and willing to return after all that had happened. They also had plans on what to do to replace those who had not survived the attack.

The whole ordeal had been an exercise in patience for the Prince, a constant effort not to let his disagreements with the voice degenerate into shouting matches, for if any servant were to overhear, it would seem a very one sided debate, not that the voice failed to hold its own.

There had been several times when he had disagreed with it just to see how it would react. Each time it either managed to counter his arguments or call his bluff when it recognized that he had no argument and was just trying to be contrary. As the day wore on he found himself less inclined to try arguing with it, doing so was a waste of time and it always managed to win. It was frustrating that what he had once dismissed as a monster was able to come up with ideas that he would have been pleased with had he come up with them himself.

Even with any difficulties that arose there was no denying that they had accomplished something.

Despite it having been a very productive day the Prince still felt restless as though he had not actually done anything when he finally stopped his efforts. The voice had been first to point out that he was getting tired and that they were talking in circles. When he tired to continue, despite its having decided that they were through for the day, it first fell silent then, when he continued to ignore its wishes, it began to use its standard strategy of humming some annoying little tune.

Unable to concentrate he was forced to do as it wanted and try to rest.

Mentally he was exhausted, yet when he finally lay down he tossed and turned, unable to make himself comfortable and relax. All he had managed to get done felt like nothing more than a distraction and there was still no news about Farah.

The voice, though tired, was quick to pick up on his agitation and comment, "By now you should know that not every problem you have can be solved with the sword or by running. I should be proof of that."

Rolling over, the Prince brought a pillow over his head, as much good as it did to block out a voice that he heard in his mind rather than in his ears, "I realize now that running from you was a mistake, I should have destroyed you when I had a chance."

"You'll never be rid of me, you knew it then and you know it now."

He threw the pillow away, "Don't think because you helped me today that I intend to stop trying. I know what you really are."

"You could have fooled me."

It sounded tired of talking, or perhaps simply tired, since the Prince had come to realize that it needed sleep as much as he did, still what it said merited a response, "What do you mean by that?"

"Can't you figure anything out without my having to explain it to you?"

The Prince smiled wryly, "I thought that mocking my ignorance was something you took great pleasure in."

"For the most part it's the only pleasure you let me have. Getting a good night's sleep would be another, but as always, you seem determined to spite both of us to deny me that."

For a long time after that comment the Prince lay still, waiting to see if it would say anything more, but it had stopped speaking to him. He was uncertain if the silence was a relief or an annoyance since he still wanted to know what it was implying about his being ignorant of its true nature.

The longer it remained quiet the more convinced he became that it was gone, at least for the time being. Silence was comforting, but did little to help bring him closer to sleep. He needed something to take his mind off all that was happening, all that he had to do and the things that he was unable to do. More than anything he longed to be among those out searching for Farah. Having to wait helplessly while the voice mocked him was maddening.

Thinking about such things would only make the situation worse, what he had to do was find a distraction of some sort.

Unable to think of anything better to do he decided to get up and go for a walk. He had ordered that efforts be made to restore the gardens so going to see what progress had been made might help him relax. A visible indication of things returning to normalcy would help ease his mind, letting him know that progress was being made and everything was not just an endless string of pointless meetings and waiting.

Even though the halls were never truly empty, since there was always some servant going about some duty, he managed to avoid encountering anyone as he made his way to the gardens which served only to improve his mood. For the first time since the voice had returned he found himself truly alone.

Moonlight streaming in through the windows illuminated the halls with a softer light, hiding the damages that the palace had suffered, making it all familiar again. It was almost possible to pretend that none of it had happened, that it had all been part of some nightmare, but both he and the city bore scars serving as constant reminders of all that had come to pass. Time was needed for recovery to occur and time was something he no longer trusted. It was such a shame that nothing remained untouched by time, if only there was some constant, but not even his beloved gardens had been spared. Only with time would they be restored, only with time would anything be brought back to any semblance of what he remembered.

Despite his efforts to prepare himself for what the gardens might look like he was still taken aback by what he saw.

A great deal of progress had been made, but it only served to further their appearance of desolation.

Everything that had died had been torn up and thrown into large piles of brush and compost which had yet to be removed. The fountains and pools had been cleaned, but remained dry, the bare stone somehow worse than when they were filled with dust. Only three ornamental trees remained standing.

His first impression of the trees was that they only stood because they were too large to remove, but as he came closer he could see that the soil beneath them was damp, indicating that they had been watered recently. When he grasped one of the branches to better examine it the branch bent rather than snapped and he could see buds just beginning to emerge along some of the larger twigs.

Amid all the desolation they had remained alive, a sign of the tenacity of life. He understood that tenacity very well, having survived even when it was ordained that he would die. Still, after all he had been through he felt that the world owed him better times than these.

Sitting down on a stone bench that would have been in the shade of the trees had they any leaves, he closed his eyes so that he would not have to look at the state of the gardens all around him. In the earliest stages of recovery they seemed even worse than when they had been in ruins. Once it was all over and things planted again the trees would be the only thing the new gardens had in common with the old.

At least the voice was silent, freeing him from the worry of what it might say next to torment him. It was difficult enough without having it telling him that he was to blame for the problems he was having.

Right now all he planned to do was savor the time he had to himself as best he could.

Eyes still closed he listened to the wind blowing through the brush piles as he tired to remember exactly what the gardens had been like before all that he had been through. As he listened he could almost hear the rush of water falling from the fountains.

He must have dozed off for a moment because he was suddenly aware that he was no longer alone. Someone else was walking through the gardens. Not wanting to disturb the tranquility of the moment, he merely watched as they approached.

It was a servant girl, mercifully not the same one he had spoken with earlier, that would have made things too terribly awkward. He was not able to recognize which one she was, there were too many of them for him to bother trying to keep track of them all.

She walked down one of the stone paths, pausing from time to time to look at one of the empty pools or to examine one of the patches of disturbed soil where the dead plants had been uprooted. What was it that brought her here, did she too have something that disturbed her sleep?

Unaware that she was being watched, she turned down a path that brought her closer to him, causing the Prince to wonder how much longer it would be before she realized that she was not alone. The answer to that question came quite quickly, for almost immediately after she started towards him she stopped to stare into the darkness.

"Who's there?" she inquired, sounding nervous.

Before the Prince could respond she must have realized who he was, for she bowed and started to back away, "Your highness, I am sorry if I disturbed you."

He considered sending her away, but curiosity got the better of him. It seemed strange that a servant girl would be out alone at this time of night.

"You disturbed nothing," he motioned for her to come and sit next to him.

"Of course," bowing a second time, she went over and sat down on the bench with him.

In the moonlight he could see her eyes shining in the darkness, wide and uncertain. He wondered if that uncertainty was because of any of his recent actions, or if it was from surprise at encountering him in this situation. Hopefully it was from surprise, the thought that anyone had actually heard him talking to the voice was not something he wanted to think about at the moment.

They went through the formalities, reassuring in their familiarity. All the proper meaningless words were exchanged and afterwards, the silence of the evening resumed.

How long they sat without talking he could not begin to guess, the whole evening had taken on a surreal quality, made more so by the voice remaining silent despite the situation. Normally he would have thought that there was no way it would miss an opportunity like this, especially not after what had happened earlier in the day. If it was going to keep quiet now he intended to savor it.

He waited to see if she was going to do or say anything more, but other than shift her weight from time to time she did nothing. Sitting with her was more or less the same as sitting alone, until he noticed that she was watching him out of the corner of her eye. Unless he was mistaken it was not with a look of fear either.

From there the details of the situation began to blur. The servant girl may have leaned a little closer to him, or he may have moved towards her. Either way he ended up resting a hand on her leg as she smiled coyly at him.

She placed her hand on top of his and leaned closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder.

Intrigued at what might come of this, he looked into her eyes and smiled at what he saw there. It was clear she understood what this could mean and what she wanted, unlike earlier with the child and her inept fumblings.

His hand drifting up from her thigh, he drew her in closer. Instead of resisting she allowed herself to be drawn in, and lifting her head surprised him with a kiss. He accepted her offer and returned the gesture. Reaching up, she brushed her fingers against his face as he slid his hand up under her clothing.

He shifted position slightly to better prepare for what was to follow as she ran her fingers through his hair. Unfortunately the stone bench was too narrow for such maneuvers and they both nearly fell to the ground.

The servant girl let out a startled gasp and tightened her grasp on his hair as she tired to prevent herself from falling. The sound and sudden tug were what made the Prince realize what was happening. Aghast at himself for letting lust get the better of him, he tired to think of what he should do to extract himself from the situation.

Giggling embarrassedly the servant girl wrapped her arms around him to resume their actions and he found himself allowing her to do so. Laughing softly he took a moment to enjoy her reaction before moving in to kiss her again.

It was that laugh, neither nervous nor pleasant despite the situation that made him realize what was happening. Somehow the voice had once again taken over his body. More alarming was that he was unable to figure out exactly when it had happened.

"Stop this right now!" the Prince tried to say, but the words never became more than a thought.

Of course the voice never acknowledged his silent cry. Smiling wickedly it continued to have its way with the girl.

If he did nothing to stop this, the voice was going to force him to engage in even more regrettable activities than he already had.

Righteous indignation filled the Prince and he tried to force the voice back into the shadows of his mind as he had been able to do in the past, "I will not let you do this!"

Again it did not respond, remaining intent on what it wanted to do with the servant girl.

"I should have destroyed you when I had the chance," his threat was empty and he knew it, as he was unable to manage what was needed to drive the voice away.

He could tell that it was beginning to get frustrated with his protests, that he was at least distracting it, making the situation less enjoyable for it.

Without warning it stopped what it was doing and stood up, "You bore me."

It looked at the girl when it spoke, but the Prince felt that the remark was directed at him.

Abruptly he found himself back in control of his body. For a moment he considered trying to apologize to the servant girl, or explain his actions, but he could not think of anything that would make sense in the situation. Unable to do anything else he left the shocked girl behind in the gardens and when back into the palace.

"What was that about?" he demanded, once he felt that he was far enough away from the gardens to be out of hearing range.

"What was what about?" was the voice's affronted sounding reply.

"You know full well what I mean."

"You have no sense of humor."

He was in no mood for its little games and torments, "Is that all you think about?"

"At least I think," was its retort.

"Only about yourself."

It sighed and made a small noise of what might have been pity, "As though you aren't guilty of the same. I'm willing to admit it though, that's what makes me different than you."

There was no point in trying to argue with it any further. By now he knew he should be resigned to the fact it would never let him have the last word and any efforts to do so would prolong the argument. What he had to do was find a way to be rid of it once and for all. Perhaps knowledge of the Sands would be the key.

He recalled that the Vizier had mentioned books looted from the library on the Island of Time. If he had brought them with him during the attack the books might still be in the palace somewhere. When morning came he would search for them and see if there was anything in them useful for his situation. Until then he was going to once again try to get some sleep, this time he vowed that he would stay alert and if the voice tired anything he would realize before it was too late.


	7. Chapter 7

"Alright, I'll admit it, that one was a mistake. I was wrong, you were right. Does that make you happy?" the voice snapped irritably before the Prince could make a comment of his own.

He shook his head, still staring at the closed door. Right now he was not feeling up to an argument even though the voice seemed to be trying to bait him into one.

Up until the interview that had just ended, the list of potential advisors he had made had been spot on. There had been those who could not be found, but other than that everything had gone smoothly. Too smoothly, as the last interview had shown.

"No," he sighed, at last replying to its comment as he crossed the man's name off their list with a violence that made it clear that he wished to be able to do more. There were three names left to go, all three of the men waiting outside the door for him to call them in. At the moment he was unsure if he could manage after what he had just been through. All of the other interviews had lulled him into thinking that things were finally starting to look up. He had failed to anticipate that he would encounter an individual who would prove as irritating as the voice.

The man had been one of his father's advisors, that was how his name had ended up on the list, even though the Prince had not known him all that well. The Prince had assumed him to be competent, and he may have been, but he was also condescending and had spoken down to him more than once during the course of the interview. As far as the Prince could tell it was because the man had known him as a child assumed him to be unchanged. Either that or he was old and senile and failed to realize how his actions came across.

"Can you think of an excuse to tell them to come back tomorrow?" he asked the voice, hoping that its cynicism would for once be helpful to him. It was as frustrated as he was, so he hoped that it would be agreeable to calling things off for now.

Instead it made a derisive sound, "Still trying to run away?"

"Do you propose that I call one of them in when I can hardly think straight?"

"No, take a deep breath, wait and it will pass," it paused to think for a moment before continuing, "Anyway, after all you've been through it's natural to suspect the worst in everyone. Your father was too trusting, so at least you won't make the same mistakes."

The Prince had to struggle not to yell at it, "Do not speak of my father that way."

"What? We all make mistakes. That fool your father appointed was nothing compared to the Vizier," it replied in a deceptively sweet tone.

"No one could have anticipated the scope of the Vizier's treachery," he spoke through clenched teeth.

"But you saw straight through him, it was your father who convinced you to act against your better judgment, or did you do it out of spite because a certain someone told you not to?"

"I have learned my lesson," the Prince muttered darkly, wishing that there were not any people outside the door so he could carry on the discussion without having to worry about being heard.

"Doesn't it bother you that all your lessons come at such a high price?"

"I do not wish to continue this discussion any longer. I have learned from my mistakes and that is what matters."

The voice made a sound as though it was about to comment on that, but then fell silent.

While waiting for it to say whatever snide comment it was going to, the Prince went through the motions of looking the list over again. All things considered it could have been far worse, there were the two men they had discovered to be dead, the five that had no intention of returning to the palace after what had happened, the one he had just finished dealing with, and the three left to go who he had no reason to suspect to be particularly good or bad.

Much to his amazement the silence from the voice stretched on for several minutes. He knew better than to hope that it had vanished as suddenly as it had arrived, still that it had not spoken yet was puzzling. If it was trying to take him over he failed to see what good it would do at a time like this. There was little it could do to torment him and no havoc it could wreak right now, unless it really did intend to force him to finish the interviews. Morbid curiosity made him wonder how it would deal with that. To watch it try to conduct the interviews would almost be worth it, especially since it would spare him the hassle.

"Do you feel better now that I let you have the last word?"

Slumping down in his chair he gave a frustrated sigh, "I did until you started talking again."

"Are you up to continuing?" it inquired in a cheerful tone.

"If you insist."

"You do this just for me? I'm flattered," the voice said flatly.

Rather than reply he tried to decide if he really was ready to call for the next of the men to come in. Getting the interviews over with could not possibly be any worse than any of the torments the voice could come up with. Then again, if any of them proved as bad as the last at the very worst they would only be equal to any torments the voice could come up with. It all might even be a part of some plot devised by the voice, since the interviews delayed him from doing what he wanted. The first thing he had wanted to do that morning had been to go to the library and see if he could find the books he wanted. The voice had other plans and demanded that he get to work on following through with the plans they had made the previous day. When he refused it used its standard strategy of pestering him with trivialities and when those failed, it resorted to humming. Unable to concentrate he had been forced to do as it wished.

From there things had been almost unpleasantly easy. Many of the men on the list had been waiting to receive such news and the first had begun to arrive at the palace shortly after the last messenger had been sent out.

Waiting and worrying only served to help the voice at this point, for every moment he spent in indecision was a moment that could be better spent in the library. With that in mind he knew that he had no choice but to finish the interviews as quickly as possible.

Actually when all was said and done, it was nowhere near as bad as he had expected. The voice had comments to make of course, but they were either helpful or carefully neutral, probably because he was doing what it wanted. Getting the interviews done as quickly as possible had been its idea so as to get them out of the way and get advisors appointed. That way he would have to deal with only the most urgent of the city's problems. Though he was not going to admit it, he found this agreeable as it meant that he would not have to listen to the voice's advice for lack of anyone better to go to. Not spending time dealing with other people's problems meant time that he could spend figuring out how to bring Farah back and how to get rid of the voice.

Now he could finally do what he had wanted to from the start.

He was going straight to the palace library like he had wanted to, for if the Vizier had brought any of the books stolen from the Island of Time it was likely that they had ended up there. He knew the books existed, for he had heard the Vizier talking about them. In those books were the secrets of the Dagger and Sands of Time, how to control them and with that information he could be rid of the voice.

As he made his way to the library it began to speak again.

"You know that there's a problem with your plan Prince."

The Prince smiled, "You just say that because you're afraid."

"Do I sound afraid?"

He had to admit it sounded amused than afraid, but it was likely bluffing so he would call its bluff, "Since you're so fond of pointing out my mistakes, what is it you've seen that I've missed?"

"Really Prince," its tone was one of mock pity, "Your plan assumes that the Sands have something to do with my continued existence, but you know as well as I do that the Sands are gone. My being here has nothing to do with them, it never did."

It was lying in a desperate attempt to keep him from destroying it. Now he was sure that the books would be in the library and that they would contain the information that he needed. Though it was immature, he decided that he was not above gloating about it, the voice had indulged in similar spiteful pleasures after all, "As always you try to deceive me, but I know that you are afraid. No matter what you say I will not let a monster like you fool me."

A small noise of shock was followed by laughter so loud that he was driven to his knees with his hands over his ears. Closing his eyes, he waited for it to pass.

He failed to hear the sound of an approaching servant over the sound of the laughter in his mind, until the servant knelt down next to him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

His eyes snapped open and he stared at the servant, the situation taking far too long to register.

"Are you alright your highness?" the servant asked in a voice full of concern.

Wincing, the Prince tried to brush the servant's hand away, "Yes, I am fine. It's a headache, nothing more."

"Is there anything I can do for you?"

"No, just go, I'll be fine," he closed his eyes again.

The voice's laughing had tailed off into breathless giggles as it struggled to regain its composure. The relative quiet made it possible for the Prince to hear that the servant had left him.

Just to be sure he opened his eyes and looked both ways down the hall before his gaze settled on a point directly in front of him. There was a large crack running through the elaborate mural that decorated the wall. It was yet another reminder that there was still a long way to go before the palace was fully repaired.

It recovered before he did. Out of breath from laughter it still managed to speak before he was sure if he would be steady on his feet.

"It's pathetic how you do this. You'll go to any length to avoid having to face the truth."

To the best of his knowledge there was no one else in the area, so it was safe to reply, "And what is the truth?"

"If you really wanted to know you would have figured it out already. As it is, even if I told you, you would refuse to believe me and besides, I have no intention of telling you."

"Because if you did I'd know how to be rid of you," the Prince said bitterly.

"Not exactly, but if that's how you want to look at it," its tone was agreeable enough, despite the subject of the discussion being its own destruction.

Getting to his feet he continued on his way to the library, "And will you try and stop me from finding information on the Sands?"

"Though I would rather you didn't waste your time, it would be a waste of effort for me to do so."

He had mistakenly assumed that the palace library would be the same as ever, the same mistake he had made about the gardens. Reality was very different than his expectations.

Instead of shelves of carefully organized tomes and cases of scrolls he encountered stacks of books piled on the floor or crammed onto any undamaged shelves, while what few scribes there were worked diligently to copy the scrolls that were too badly damaged to be salvaged, but were still readable. Along the walls there were a number of broken shelves, collecting dust, waiting to either be repaired or discarded. Organizing the books and clearing away debris had been put off until more urgent matters were tended to.

Because he had entered so quietly no one even noticed his arrival, much to his relief. As he took in his surroundings he realized how foolish it would be to try and find what he needed. He would be looking for books he could not begin to identify or describe amid thousands of other books, none of which were in any semblance of organization. Even if he had known what he was looking for finding it would have been next to impossible with thousands of books to go through.

For what it mattered the voice said nothing the entire time he was in the library, though he was convinced that he could feel its silent smugness.

Scowling, he left the library and tried to think of what to do next.

"Don't worry Prince," the voice spoke as though trying to comfort him, "Even if you could have found the books it wouldn't have done you any good."

A quick glance let him know that he was alone in the hall, "It only means that I'll have to wait a little longer to find those books. I can manage until then."

"Yes, because you've done so well so far."

Still watching in case someone came by, he continued speaking with it, "You do nothing to make things any easier."

"Really? If not for me you would still be arguing with Farah, listening to people complain and generally being useless."

"That's not what I meant."

"Oh yes, you would much rather make a mess of things on your own than get anything done with my help. What would you do if I actually did stop helping you?"

"I would–" he began, but stopped when he heard footsteps. A servant walked by and bowed to him as though there was nothing unusual going on. Sooner or later he knew that he would speak to it when others were present, as he had previously, and would be unable to find a way to hide that he had not been speaking to anyone in the room. Eventually there would come a time where it would wear him down and he would fail to think quickly enough. The only way to avoid it would be to get rid of the voice, until then he would have to remain on guard at all times.

Just thinking about what it would be like living with the voice for any amount of time was disheartening. He longed to be able to seek out some form of distraction, yet everything he had tried previously had failed and, as much as he would like to, he could not flee from his responsibilities as king. No matter what the voice said and did he was unable to do as he wished and avoid contact with anyone until he got rid of it.

His responsibilities held him trapped in the palace.

Alone again he finished his statement, "I would manage fine without you."

"How about I keep quiet for the rest of the day to test that?" it inquired.

Even though the day was nearly over the opportunity to spend that time in silence was too good to pass up.

"Fine, I'll enjoy every minute of it."

No reply came.

He started to the gardens, then thought better of it. After what had happened the previous night he was no longer so fond of the gardens and had a feeling that even after they were restored he would not want to go there. Neither he nor the voice had brought up what had happened and he had no desire to tempt fate, or the voice, by going there.

Going to his room was a possibility since there he could spend as much time as he wanted thinking without having to worry about interruptions. There was a problem with that idea as well though. He had been spending too much time alone in there lately. Even if that alone was not enough to make people suspicious, there was no telling what other recent actions of his had attracted unwanted attention. If they had not begun to do so already, people would start wondering about him.

Doing nothing would fail to provide him with the distraction he needed, yet he was unable to think of anything to actually do.

In the end he spent the rest of the day wandering the palace to see how the repairs were being managed for lack of any better ideas about passing time. His expectations were not particularly high, but he was fairly sure that some little projects were in progress to make the palace more presentable. The complaints he had made about the gardens had inspired the other little efforts elsewhere and he wanted to see what was being done.


	8. Chapter 8

Spending the evening wandering the palace turned out to not be as good an idea as he had originally thought. Repairs were minimal since he had not made them a priority past what was needed to keep the place standing. For the most part all the efforts consisted of clearing away debris and concealing damage in areas where it was likely to be noticed. With the condition the rest of the city was in he had no intention of trying to make further repairs to the palace too high a priority, not when there so many other, more important things to worry about. Unpleasant as the situation was it was not unpleasant enough to warrant immediate fixing.

After the places he had slept while fleeing from the Dahaka the condition of palace had failed to concern him until he really looked closely at it. Having a roof over his head and an actual bed should have been enough, it bothered him that he now worried so much about the appearance of where he was living.

He had never realized that there were fine cracks running all through the stone walls. Most of them he could dismiss as being harmless, natural variations in the texture of the stone that had always been there. On the other hand, there were cracks nearly large enough for him to put a finger into, those were the ones that bothered him.

No matter how many times he was reassured that the cracks in the walls were nothing to worry about, that they would be easy enough to patch up when there was a chance to do so, the sheer number of them was disconcerting. Once he started noticing them he was unable to stop. A comment from the voice about how he was being silly to dwell on such things, or that it was his fault for not having something done already would have been welcome, if just to provide him with a chance to argue the point. As it was he knew he was being ridiculous by worrying so much, but found himself unable to stop thinking that the palace was going to fall down around him.

He would have been hard pressed to describe what he had eaten for dinner that evening for he had been preoccupied the whole time, counting cracks on the walls. Unpleasant as the activity was it kept sticking in his mind among other, more troublesome matters.

Retiring to his room provided no relief either, for there he noticed a number of cracks on the ceiling above his bed. As it grew darker the shadows in the cracks deepened, making them seem to grow. He knew that they were not actually getting larger, that they had been there since the attack and had never bothered him until now. Little things bothering him so much was a sign of how stressed he was, how he needed to find some form of diversion even though there was no time for self indulgence. Getting some rest would help if he could force himself to relax. Perhaps once it was too dark to see the cracks he might be able to stop thinking about them and calm down. Then he could concentrate on other things, like how he planned to find out what sort of progress was being made in the search for Farah.

The concept of out of sight, out of mind did not hold true this particular evening, when it was too dark to see them it became even easier to imagine that the cracks were growing. Ordinary nighttime sounds that should have been comforting in their familiarity became unnerving, bringing to mind an approaching enemy or shifting stone.

The idea that he was trapped and the palace was falling down around him became more and more real to him. Sleep would be one way to escape, but no matter how he tired, he could clear his mind and let it come. Instead he found himself stuck in that odd state of half sleep where all the horrors he could imagine felt truly real. His imaginings shifted focus slightly, back to the way things had been.

Living on the run might have left him indifferent to the nature of the places where he stopped to rest, but it had made him highly sensitive to the need to have avenues of escape. In a desperate attempt to occupy his mind, he mentally charted all the ways he could get out of the palace if the need arose. Though not exactly comforting, thinking of escape plans might allow him to feel safe enough to sleep.

All the horrors he had faced were long gone, yet he was thinking as though an attack might come at any moment. It only became worse as the night wore on and the things he thought of that he might need to get away from grew increasingly illogical, as did the methods of escape that he came up with. There was also the fear that the voice had remained silent so long because it was plotting something terrible. Having something so menacing so very close at all times was maddening, at least with the Dahaka he had been able to go to others to seek out the information he needed. Here he was alone.

Exhaustion would eventually put a stop to his worrying by bringing sleep, but he doubted that it would be restful when it finally did come. Most likely the voice would seize control the instant he began to doze

He could not be sure how long he spent tossing and turning, or if he had fallen asleep at any point during that time. If he had it could not have been very much as it was still pitch black out when he got up and began to get dressed. Tired as he was, could not stay in bed any longer and hoped that getting out of the palace would help.

He dressed in a daze, going through the motions like a sleepwalker as he considered dozens of other things. Farah, he could not stop thinking about her, the events of the day, where the voice had gone, and the cracks on the walls. Right now the voice still had not done anything, leaving him to wonder what it would try when it returned. There was a chance that it was resting, if it did rest. It got tired so it only stood to reason that it rested. If it was asleep he envied it for that.

Instead of going straight to the door he went over to stand on the balcony and looked out at the scaffolding, another reminder of the ongoing repairs, how they were not happening as fast as they could be. It would be a short jump to the nearest beam if he chose to try.

The more he thought about it, the more it seemed like a good idea. Walking through the halls there was always the chance that he would encounter somebody else and they might ask questions about why he was unable to sleep. Conversation, even that motivated by concern was something he did not want to have to deal with. With the voice asleep he intended to enjoy the silence and opportunity to think without interruption. Encountering another person might wake it up, yet another reason to avoid people. He could also not expect to walk out the main doors as though nothing unusual was happening, the king of a mighty empire did not leave his palace alone at night to go for a stroll in the moonlight.

Did he really need to take the time to give any further consideration to the matter?

Jumping from the balcony to a section of scaffolding a short distance below was an action as natural to him as walking. As soon as he grabbed onto the thin wooden bar and swung himself up to perch on it he knew that it was the right thing to do. The wood bent slightly under his weight, bouncing when he dropped to hang from it for a moment before letting go to fall to a platform and begin his descent to street level.

Navigating along the narrow beams and unsteady platforms took all his concentration, allowing him to forget about Farah, the voice and how claustrophobic the palace had become. All that mattered was where he was going to go next, timing jumps and seeking out handholds while trying to plan every move in advance, as well as anything that could go wrong. One mistake would cause him to fall to his death, there was no place for fear or distraction. Never did he stop to think that for the sake of a distraction he was risking his life. Having done similar things since he was a child the feats of acrobatics that he managed now were second nature to him.

Balanced on one of the more sturdy support beams he stared out at the rooftops to pick out where he would go next. He did not wish to descend to street level, for there would be people below, even at this hour and he wanted nothing to do with them. Watching them from the rooftops would be far better, for there he would be able to observe them unseen if he decided to. They would never know he was there since they would never think to look up and even if they did he could simply duck out of sight. There was a feeling of power that came from being able to watch unseen, something more real than anything that came from being king.

Once again lowering himself to swing from a beam he built momentum and arced through the open air to get to the nearest building below him.

He must have misjudged either the distance he needed to cover or the momentum of his swing for he only just managed to grab onto the edge of the roof. For a heart stopping moment he was unsure if his grip would hold when he felt a bit of loose stone shift under his hands. Bracing himself for a fall he risked a downwards glance to see if there was anything below that he could catch himself on. As far as he could tell there was nothing.

When nothing more happened and he found his grip to be stable he pulled himself up to the roof to pause and catch his breath for a moment. Safe again for the time being the danger he had been in only served to exhilarate him. It was the closest he could come to cheating death without the Dagger. Where he would go next was his only concern.

The gentle night breezes blew through his hair, reminding him that he would have to stop putting off a haircut before it got too long. Brushing back his hair and looking down below him he saw a lone figure making their way through the darkened streets. For no reason other than that it was something to do he decided to follow them.

Now there was an added challenge to maneuvering along the rooftops, choosing the path that allowed him to follow most closely, rather than the easiest way to go. The challenge served to make the process more enjoyable, providing him with a concrete goal of sorts, the kind he had not had since the Vizier's army had been vanquished.

Jumping from building to building he scaled latticework and clung to the narrowest of ledges to keep up with the figure. It brought to mind trying to sneak up on a sand creature, unseen, to dispatch it. That thought brought a bitter smile to his lips, who would have thought that he would have ever found himself nostalgic for the times where he was fighting for his life, running, hiding, killing with only one goal in mind. This time, of course it was different, he was safe and in control.

For the time being he was free of all worries and responsibility. It was like before when he had been living form day to day, thinking of nothing other than what his next move would be, no worrying about anyone other than himself. Though he would never choose to go back to living that way, things had been much simpler then. That simplicity was what he longed for, not the danger.

During that moment he spent lost in thought the traveler took a turn that he had failed to anticipate, forcing him to rethink the path he was going to follow.

He had to get to the other side of the street without being seen. In a glance he took in aspects of the surrounding buildings that most would be blind to. As soon as he saw what he was looking for he acted.

The building he jumped to was a story taller than the one that he was on, so he was unable to get to the roof, but there was a balcony that he could reach.

Landing on the balcony with a soft thud he jumped up on the railing and then to a ledge that served to shelter the area from the elements. Below he could hear someone moving in the room, walking over to look out and investigate the source of the sound they had just heard. He was already on the roof and out of sight so it was unimportant, though he did pause to look down on them while they stared out onto the streets. They were absolutely clueless, as was the person he was following. The feeling of freedom and power that came from being able to move through the city absolutely unseen was intoxicating. No one would ever know of what he was doing right now so it did not matter that he was acting irresponsibly. Right now he felt as though he ruled the city in a way that was impossible from the palace.

Back on course again he continued following the traveler, unsure of how much longer he was going to be able to keep his little chase up. He was curious about why they might be up at such an hour and where they were going, but he would have to go back to the palace sooner or later. Perhaps they were suffering from insomnia like he was, looking for a way to spend the night when sleep refused to come. The thought that they had more sinister reasons for prowling the streets at night had its appeal as well. Maybe if he kept following them he would catch them in the act of committing some crime. It was unlikely that was the case, but the idea of being able to further the parallel between this night and his time on the run was fascinating. An act as simple as stopping some thug on the streets would be far more satisfying that overseeing repairs from the palace. Then he would actually be doing something, rather than telling others what to do.

Now that he was directly above them again he felt the need to make things a little more challenging. Following unseen from the roofs was just not enough any more, it did not take his full attention which might allow his problems to creep back into his thoughts. Already he knew that he was allowing his mind to wander from his goal, letting idle fantasies distract him from what he was doing. A distraction could prove fatal at a time like this.

Since he was directly above them so he decided to see just how close he could get while they remained unaware of him. Once he did that he would go back to the palace to try and fall asleep. If there was no actual risk to be had he could at least pretend that he was after one of the sand creatures. To face a nonexistent foe might help him gain relief from the real difficulties he would have to face in the morning.

There was a series of ledges along the sides of the building he was on, part of some ornamental pattern. Architecture worked to his advantage now, just as it had when he was stalking the Vizier's monstrous soldiers, buildings were close together with plenty of hand and footholds to let him go where he wished.

He dropped down to one of the ledges and pressed himself against the wall, his heart pounding as he tired to keep his balance. It was just like going after the horrors that had overrun the city. As he made sure that he was not going to slip he brought his left hand to rest on the hilt of his sword. For a moment he wondered why he had brought it with him, but then he realized that he could remember so little of getting dressed and leaving the palace that there did not have to be a reason. He had gotten dressed without thinking and he had grown used to having a sword at his side at all times so it made sense, there was no telling what he might encounter.

Once he was sure that he was not going to fall he dropped down to the next ledge, slipped and made some small sound of frustration. No matter how he tired he doubted that he was going to be able to keep his balance.

A fall from this height would not cause any injury provided that he landed correctly, but he would be seen.

Chancing a look down he saw that they had stopped to listen. Any second they were going to look up and see him. The adrenalin flowing through his veins made everything seem to happen in slow motion, but even with that oddly distorted sense of time there was only one option.

Acting on instinct he gave up on trying to keep his balance and turned in mid air to face them at the same time as he drew his sword.

They looked up and saw him, but it did not matter anymore, they had no time to react. The last thing they would see was his blade flashing bright in the darkness.

He swung his sword with all his might and there was a spray of blood as they collapsed in a heap on the ground, letting out a gurgling sound then falling silent.

Wiping his blade clean on the corpse's clothing, he then sheathed his sword. Looking down at the corpse he decided that he best leave before attracting further unwanted attention.

Taking a running start he dashed up the side of the nearest building to begin his ascent back to the roof tops.

Once there he oriented himself to begin making his way back to the palace.

This time he moved at a more leisurely pace, his exertions beginning to catch up on him. Despite what he had managed when running form the Dahaka, there was only so much he could do without sleep. Back then by the time he grew this tired he would have sought out a relatively safe place to rest for a few moments, but now he had to get back to the palace before dawn. He had to be careful or else he would slip up and risk falling.

By the time he was climbing the palace's scaffolding to get back to his room he might as well have been acting in his sleep. He could not even remember putting his sword away, getting undressed and collapsing into bed. So tired that he never even pulled back the blankets he slept soundly through the remainder of the night.


	9. Chapter 9

"What have you done?" The Prince tried to keep the panic he was feeling out of his voice, not that it mattered, the voice would know anyway.

"Nothing. What is it that you've done?"

He nearly shouted at its flippant reply, but managed to stop himself. Already he had been too loud when speaking to it, anyone who might have been near could have heard him. If he was lucky they would merely assume that he had awoken from a nightmare. He wanted to convince himself that the events of the previous night had been nothing more than a dream, but it had become difficult to tell.

From the instant that he had first woken up he knew that something was wrong. At first he had been unable to make sense of his situation, he just felt that nothing was as it should be. Only once he became aware that he was in his armor did he begin to remember the events of the previous night.

Thinking the situation over any further was useless to the point of being maddening. There was so little that he could be sure of that he had no idea where to start.

"You're going to have to leave this room sooner or later," the voice said flatly, trying to goad him into continuing to argue with it.

It was mocking him, acting as though he were the one at fault when it had used his body to kill a man. Just the thought made him shudder since he was unable to recall exactly when he had ceased to be the one in control. Somehow it was growing steadily stronger, even without the Sands. He had to find a way to be rid of it, and soon before it became too powerful for him to control.

He played the events of the night over and over again in his mind, trying to figure out what was real and if any of it might possibly have been a dream. All that he could be certain of was that he had gone out into the night, for he had awoken in his armor, his sword on the floor next to the bed. Still more convincing was that there were scrapes on his hands and arms, from when he had tumbled going from one roof to another. At least part of it had been real, but towards the end he could not be as sure. Maybe killing the man had been an actual dream, one that the voice was trying to convince him was reality.

"I can't believe you're getting so upset about this."

"You used me to kill a man!" as he spoke he reached for his sword, both for the comfort that would come from having its familiar weight in his hand and because he did not remember cleaning it after the night's events. The presence or absence of blood on the blade would reveal the truth of what had happened.

"It's not like you've never killed someone before. I would have thought that you'd be used to it by now," distain dripped from its every word.

Gripping the sword so tightly that his knuckles turned white, the Prince spoke, "That's not the point."

"Well then, would you mind enlightening me as to what the point is?" it snapped.

"That this is all your fault."

"I think we've had this conversation before. I am you, everything that I do is a reflection of who you are," genuine anger colored the words it spoke.

With an exclamation of frustration the Prince threw the sword to the floor, "You are not me! You never were, you're a monster, a thing of the Sands, something that should not be!"

"You really are determined to make things hard on yourself, aren't you?"

The Prince tired to think of a suitable response, but gave up when he realized the situation he was now in. For an unknown amount of time he had been yelling at the voice, if anyone had heard him they most likely would have stopped to listen. Someone listening might have been there long enough to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that something was wrong.

"Yes, now you think of the consequences of your little tantrum," the voice muttered darkly.

"Anything that happens is your fault," despite it being the truth, there was little comfort to it.

"You're repeating yourself. You can blame me all you like, but the rest of the world won't see it that way."

He said nothing as he was trying to see if he could hear anything in the hall outside without actually having to open the door. When he heard nothing he took the chance of opening the door and was relieved to find that the hall was deserted. As he closed the door he felt as though he had narrowly escaped a very dangerous situation.

For now he was safe as long as he remembered to stay on guard. With that in mind he tired to get back to the matter that had started the whole ordeal, whether or not the voice had actually killed a man the previous night, or if it had just influenced his dreams to make him believe it had. Unraveling that mystery might help him figure out if anything else he had experienced had not been real.

"No more changing the topic, tell me the truth about what you have done," until he knew the truth he was uncertain if he could bring himself to leave his room. To think that he might have so little control over his own actions was terrifying.

"You act like you've never done something similar," it replied with insufferable pride.

This time he was not going to let it drag him into another debate, one that would inevitably end in another shouting match, "I won't let you play your games anymore, what did you do?"

"I honestly can't see why you're getting so worked up. It's not like anyone will find out unless you let them."

Its tone had been unreadable leaving him uncertain if it was mocking him or making a confession. He decided to continue pressing for an answer, "Would it hurt you to give me an actual answer?"

"No, but that doesn't mean I will," it let out a little laugh, "Besides, who knows how many people died last night. You're not getting worked up about all of them are you?"

A knock on the door filled him with dread, for a fleeting moment he thought that they had come to confront him about the murder. The voice's laughter brought him back to reality and made him realize how absurd he was being.

"Paranoid, aren't we?"

Ignoring the voice he spoke to whoever was outside through the closed door. The last thing he wanted to do was explain why he was dressed in his armor and had a sword out, "What do you want?"

Something in his tone must have alarmed the servant, for they spent several seconds stammering.

When he grew tired of waiting for a coherent response he decided that whatever it was could wait. He was tired, angry and in no condition to deal with whatever nonsense that was being brought to him now, "Just go, I can't be bothered right now."

The servant made one last attempt to speak, managed something that might have been an apology and left.

"So, what now?" the voice snapped at him, "Are we going to argue all day?"

It was bitter about the fact that he still fought against it, that was the only explanation. Knowing that it had no chance of convincing him to cooperate, it sought to drive him to madness out of pure spite.

"If I could do something I would," he growled as he bent down to pick up his sword.

The moment he reached for it he was overcome by a wave of dizziness that brought him to his knees. Closing his eyes he fought to keep from blacking out even as he felt his hand close around the hilt of his sword. There was a point where he was certain that he would faint, but the feeling passed.

Eyes still closed, he rose to his feet.

"Are you sure about that? That if you had the chance you'd take action?"

"Yes, I –" he began, but fell silent when he opened his eyes. Somehow he was no longer in his room, but standing in the middle of the gardens. He would have believed that the voice had brought him there, except the gardens were not as they should be. Somehow they were lush and green, exactly as he remembered them. The smell of flowers in full bloom filled the air and water flowed from the fountains into an ornamental pool.

Expecting the vision to fade away at any second he knelt down by the pool to dip his hand in the water. None of it felt like a hallucination, though there was no way any of it could be real. He watched ripples spread across the surface of the pool, seeing the sky and garden reflected perfectly as the water grew clam again.

"See something interesting?" the voice laughed merrily.

The Prince dismissed its question as being rhetorical. Only when a shadow fell over him did he realize that the voice had not been speaking in his mind, but from somewhere close behind him.

Springing to his feet he turned to face the creature. It was standing about five feet away from him, arms crossed against its chest, bladed chain glinting menacingly in the sun.

Uncrossing its arms it stretched leisurely, "I was wondering how long it would take."

With a flick of its wrist it sent the chain towards him.

By the time the Prince raised his sword to block the attack it changed the course of the chain with another quick little movement. The string of blades missed him by inches, though he still took a step back, expecting an actual attack to come. Instead he nearly tripped and fell into the ornamental pool.

Catching his balance at the edge of the pool he let out an exclamation of shock and anger. This was far too much like what had taken place after the Vizier's defeat.

Unmoved by the Prince's frustration it brought back its arm to flick the chain at him again, content to keep him at a distance and unable to manage an attack of his own.

Instead of allowing it to continue to control the situation, the Prince decided to risk trying to close the distance between them.

This time he would not run away, if he did it would only prolong his torment. Now it would be different and he would find a way to destroy it once and for all.

Dodging the bladed chain he used his momentum to bring himself into a roll that closed the distance between the creature and himself too quickly for it to respond.

He swung his sword, not truly expecting the attack to do any good, but hoping that it would allow him to begin to fight offensively rather than continuing to dodge attacks until he became too tired to continue. Seconds before his attack landed the wind picked up and the creature was surrounded in a cloud of sand. The cloud continued to spread until it engulfed him as well, forcing him to back away to try and escape.

The air became thick with grit, blinding him and leaving him unable to draw a full breath. If he failed to escape he would quickly suffocate. As he backed away he risked opening his eyes to see if the edge of the cloud was near. When no means of escape presented itself, his eyes were drawn to a darker shape in the cloud, most likely the creature. There was no doubt in his mind that it was responsible for the sand storm, so perhaps distracting it would put a stop to the storm. It was a risky maneuver, but it was the only chance he had. He threw his sword at it, hoping that the blade would strike true, even as a powerful gust of wind blew him backwards, driving stinging grains of sand into his face. If the sword had missed he was now unarmed and entirely at the creature's mercy.

There was one last gust of wind, and then the storm began to die down. Over the fading winds he could hear the creature laughing. Right away he suspected the worst, that he had failed to injure it in any way while leaving himself vulnerable to whatever attack it might be plotting.

Upon opening his eyes he saw something far worse than anything he could have imagined. Somehow the creature had managed to take his form. Instead of a monster he found himself staring at a perfect replica of himself. Its eyes, now blue, shone with malevolent glee and when it spoke, it spoke in his voice.

"This certainly is an interesting twist," it commented, examining its arms and hands.

An interesting twist was not how the Prince would have described the situation, but it gave him hope. Now that it was human as well he might be able to best it in combat, even without his sword.

It continued to examine itself, "As interesting as it can be to be human I do believe that you got the better deal here."

Of course, the Prince smiled, it was unused to fighting as a human rather than a monster which gave him a decided advantage. Even better, it was no longer in possession of the bladed chain which it wielded with such skill. The only explanation was that it was all a sign that he was to win this battle. Now that the creature was in a form where it could be killed he would not hesitate.

Done with looking itself over, it turned to stare at him as he advanced on it. Something about the amusement so evident on its features made him stop cold. Either he was walking right into some sort of trap, or there was something about the situation he had missed.

Sensing his puzzlement the creature shook its head with mock sorrow, "Look at yourself Prince. How can you be so dense?"

Even before it finished speaking The Prince had an idea as to what it meant. Still, despite the fact that he was fairly certain he knew what he would see, he found himself looking at his hands. His skin was charred black with golden lines tracing patterns across his body. When the creature had taken his form, he had somehow ended up taking on its appearance.

Alarming as the situation was, he still felt confident that he could set things straight. Water had always restored him to his true form when the creature attempted to overwhelm him, so now it was likely that water would restore him and force the creature back into its proper body.

He turned towards the fountain and saw, to his horror, a layer of dust covering bare stone. Somehow the garden had ended up in the same state of ruin as when he first visited it.

"Something the matter Prince?"

The mocking comment drew his attention back to the creature. He noticed that it had picked up his sword and was slowly advancing on him, grinning wickedly.

"One way or another it will end here," it said flatly before lunging at him.

Almost too stunned to act, the Prince barely managed to dodge. Either his reflexes were improved, or the creature was unused to the weight of the sword, for it only managed to strike a glancing blow. The Prince brought a hand to his side where he had been cut only to jerk it away violently when he felt fine grit flowing from the wound rather than blood. Shaking the glowing Sand from his hand he turned his attention back the creature.

Rather than moving in for another attack, the creature was staring at the blade of its sword with a bemused expression. The Prince was not concerned with the reason it had lowered its guard, he simply intended to press the advantage that it had been foolish enough to provide him. He prepared to strike it with the bladed chain that he now possessed. Despite his loathing for what had conspired that enabled him to use the chain as a weapon, he was quite adept at wielding it, far better than the creature was with a sword. His plan was to aim for the creature's throat, either killing it by severing its jugular or, if that failed, using the chain to pull it in close where he could choke the life from it.

"This _is_ where it ends," the creature muttered softly, not bothering to look at him.

Something about its tone made him falter, wondering if it had planned some new trickery that he was falling right into. Perhaps killing it as he was now would leave him trapped in this form, allowing it to take its final revenge on him. To fix that he would have to force it to switch them back, then he would deal with it once and for all.

As he approached, it threw down the sword, somehow making the action a gesture of defiance rather than defeat.

Whether the creature liked it or not he was through letting it have its way, now that he could he was going to finally force it to do as he wished rather than the other way around.

It crossed its arms across its chest, inviting him to do as he wished, most likely not believing that he would actually follow through. That was its mistake, believing that he was weak.

He drew back and punched it in the face with all his might.

No sooner than the blow landed the Prince found himself blinded by an explosion of agony. If it had still been possible his eyes would have been watering from the pain, instead he felt a dull burn there as he staggered back and fell to the ground. Through his pain he could hear the creature alternating between fits of shallow, gasping laughs and gagging.

"You're only hurting yourself Prince," it wheezed and punctuated the statement by spitting.

An attempt to manage some appropriate reply failed when he realized for the first time that his mouth seemed to be full of grit. He spat out a clump of Sand, which rapidly lost its unnatural glow, in the pile of Sand was something that might have been a fragment of a tooth.

The creature's statement had been more than just a snide remark, somehow he was suffering the same injury that he had inflicted upon it.

Looking at it he saw that there was blood flowing from its nose and the corner of its mouth from his having punched it in the face, as well as an injury on its side matching the one it had dealt to him. It made an effort to wipe away some of the blood from its face, examined its hand with a look of disgust and then turned to face him, "So, what now?"

Resignation, rather than spite colored its words, leaving the Prince wondering what had caused its abrupt change in attitude.

When he remained silent, staring at it, the creature spoke again, "Continue to fight me and you'll destroy both of us."

Unpleasant as thought was, the Prince wondered if it would be worth it, at least then it would be prevented from doing any more harm than it already had.

No, he realized that it was still trying to trick him, that there was another answer, one that the creature had already realized. Unsteadily he got up and went over to it, it looked up at him and smirked, its last gesture of defiance, "You won't be rid of me."

"I know," he held out his hand and the creature took it. As he helped it to its feet he had time to notice that its hand felt cold and clammy in his grip, then the edges of his vision began to fade to white and he had the momentary sensation of falling.

A sound brought him back to awareness. He was lying on his bedroom floor and there was someone knocking at the door.

The pounding continued, but before he could say anything the door opened and Farah walked into the room.


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note: **Thank you Caroline and thank you to all who read my story.

* * *

Farah had entered the room as though there was nothing wrong with the situation, leaving the Prince to wonder if he was still in a dream. Despite the fact he was certain that his ordeal had come to an end, he was also convinced that something would happen at any moment to prove that his mind was playing tricks on him, or that he was not in full control of the situation. Considering how unreal it was that Farah had returned as though out of nowhere anything seemed possible.

Mistaking his expression of disbelief for one of curiosity Farah sat down on his bed and smiled gently, "Considering what I'd heard about the way you've been acting the past few days I thought you would have wanted to see me the instant you heard that I chose to return."

"What?" the Prince stared blankly at her, not comprehending what it was that she was talking about. How was he to know that she had returned when he had never left his room that day? Then it dawned on him that the servant he had dismissed earlier, the one he had not even bothered to speak with, had been unusually persistent. Farah's return went a long way towards explaining that.

She gave him a disapproving look, "After all we went through together I can't believe that you find it so difficult to believe that I can manage on my own for a few days."

By this point he was used to getting answers that were not actually answers, though to be getting them from Farah was rather disconcerting. To have Farah back and sitting on his bed was almost too much to believe.

In the process of trying to make sense of the situation he realized that he was still sitting on the floor. Since there was still no chair in the room and it would not be proper for him to remain as he was, he got up and sat down on the bed next to Farah. She must have taken his actions as an invitation to continue with her story, for she began speaking again, but he chose to ignore her once it became clear that she was offering neither an explanation nor an apology at this point.

As long as he at least pretended to listen he figured that it would not matter, as long as he let her talk she would probably be content. Besides, there were other things on his mind at the moment, such as whether or not it truly was all over. As much as he wanted to believe it was, after all that he had been through it seemed almost disappointingly easy for it to have ended as it had. Maybe that was why it had ended up being such a difficult process, he had been unwilling to face such a simple truth.

Once he realized that the voice truly was a part of him and came to accept that, it had been easy to bring about an end. He had, for lack of a better way of putting it, been able to reabsorb it. To say that it was truly gone would be wrong since it was a part of him, but he found himself increasingly convinced that it was now permanently silenced.

Convinced that he had triumphed over the voice once and for all, the only thing he was left wondering about was how much of it had been real. Looking back on the whole ordeal he realized that his paranoia and constant efforts to fight with what had essentially been himself had left him in a near delirious state for much of the time. There were points he knew clearly to be dreams and events he was confident actually did happen, but much of what fell between those two points was a mystery to him. Not knowing made his victory a hollow one.

He turned to look at Farah, who was now mentioning something about how she had left when she realized that their discussions were going to do nothing but bring about further arguing. If not for the other things on his mind he might have found some satisfaction in that she was admitting fault, but her words gave no indication if, on the night that she had left, he had attacked her or not. Asking her was not an option since he was unable to think of how to phrase the question. In the event that he had attacked her asking about it would make it seem as though he was unaware of his own actions, but if he had done nothing voicing his worries would make him appear childish, worrying about nightmares and unable to tell what was real. Maybe with time he would be able to piece events together on his own.

While he was thinking of what, if anything, he could say Farah put a hand on his shoulder. He turned to face her, expecting that now she was ready to apologize. Instead she shook her head as though exasperated, "Are you even listening to me?"

"I was - that is to say," for a moment he wanted to tell the truth, explain what had actually happened, but then he saw what might have been nervousness in her eyes and how she brought her hand up to rest at her throat in an unconscious defensive gesture.

Perhaps his victory over the voice was not as complete as he had first believed.


End file.
